Details
by dorkysamantha
Summary: A story about what it's like for things to take entirely too long to fall into place.
1. Chapter 1: Baby

**Author's Note: Please go easy on me! This is my first time writing fanfiction. This story has been floating around in my brain for some time now, it's time for me to finally get it out. It will, hopefully, be a long story with lots of character/story development etc.. Puck's reason for being at Yale **_**will**_** be explained in later chapters.**

She'd been watching him for the past half hour from behind her desk, trying desperately to pretend that she was remaining on task. There was an entire cart of books to check in again, and she'd be damned if it didn't get done by the end of her shift. Quinn had been working in the college library for a week. A _week_. And, right now, she was finding it very difficult to concentrate on punching call numbers into her fucking keyboard. Why? Because of some idiot in a leather jacket who insisted on distracting everybody by wandering around and flirting with everybody who possessed a vagina. Was he really distracting _everybody_…. Or just Quinn? God, look at him. Watch how he leaned against the shelves and smirked at girls in the most arrogant smirk she'd ever seen. Watch how he offered that stupid 'sup' nod, like girls were _actually_ going to fall for that. Who in their right mind would fall for that? How could he not be distracting? Quinn Fabray was about to lose her job as a librarian, because she was entirely too focused on this asshole, and not focused enough on the books.

And then he started walking towards the desk. Oh God, not her too. He was _not_ about to flirt with the librarian. She stared at him with wide, hazel eyes and an open mouth. Okay, maybe this was a good thing. If she got the chance to, she would ask him kindly (or…. not so kindly) to see his way out of the library. Leather jacket and all. He stopped before Quinn and oh-so-casually leaned over the desk, resting on his forearms.

" 'Sup…." Those eyes fell to her nametag. "Quinn? Name's Puck." Like she was supposed to believe that was his real name. He extended one arm for a handshake, but Quinn only glanced at his hand and then back up at him with a face that screamed _Are you kidding me?_ His jaw clenched—and almost stopped Quinn's heart—and he slowly drew his hand back in, smirking that same, arrogant smirk.

"That's fine. I was just wondering if you're lost or something. Librarians are supposed to be grey-haired and fat… maybe a couple moles on their face. You, _Quinn_, are most definitely not grey-haired and fat. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb here and call you the sexiest librarian I've ever seen." And then he started to eyefuck her without even trying to hide it. Disgusting. She could've smacked him.

"I'd like to check out this book." He slid a Kama Sutra book towards Quinn without looking away from her, jaw clenching again as he smirked _like that_. Again. She glanced down at the paperback, raising an eyebrow at the… compromising position that its cover subjects were in.

"I'm just trying to educate myself…. Y'know, learn some new stuff for the chicks. Gotta keep 'em coming. This jawline is starting to not be enough."

Her lips were pursed, her eyes narrowed as she stared at him with a skeptical, slightly confused and more-than-slightly disgusted expression. Slowly, she reached for the book whilst staring him down. Like she was in some sort of western.

She should have said something really bitchy, right? That's who she was, after all. Quinn fucking Fabray, HBIC. That jaw was terribly distracting, though, and that smile. Ugh. She hated him already.

"Your ID number?" she sneered, because she didn't think _You're a pig_ was entirely appropriate for work.

And then he chuckled like she told some kind of joke, and Quinn had to chomp on the inside of her cheek to suppress her annoyance.

"Baby," he started, and she swallowed. _Baby_. "I'm not a student here… Actually, I'm not a student anywhere. School's not really my thing. I clean pools and bang hot chicks."

And all she could do was stare at him, because she was a little too stuck on the sound of _that_ word coming from _those_ lips. Baby. It was supposed to turn her _off_, right? Right. She was… disgusted by him.

She cleared her throat, praying that he wouldn't notice how thrown off she was, and gripped the book a little tighter. Right now, she'd pretend that it wasn't bizarre for her to be gripping a paperback book with a penis so carefully depicted on its cover.

"I can't check this out to you if you're not a student here," she explained with more than a hint of bitchiness in her voice, because wasn't that the most obvious thing in the world? "You have to be a student at Yale."

Puck only stared at her. Eyes narrow, smirk plastered in place, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. "That's fine," he chimed after a few long seconds of undressing Quinn with his eyes. "I'll just use my imagination in bed, then. Might be more fun if I had a sexy librarian to improvise with… What'ya say, _Quinn_?"

"You're a pig," she snapped, out loud this time.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, chuckling at how flustered she'd gotten. "Guess that's a big no," he laughed, as if seeing her so pissed was as entertaining as hearing a good Bill Cosby joke.

"That's okay, baby, I'll go put it back."

_Baby_.

He reached for the book with a grin, taking it for her and purposely lingering with his fingers against her skin. It was entirely too electrifying, coming from somebody who was such an unbelievable jerk. All Quinn did was stare past him and try to figure out what the hell she was feeling right now. Not five seconds ago, she was totally disgusted by this _pig_. Now, she was dying to hear him call her _that word_ again.

When she finally collected her thoughts enough to muster up some sort of vicious comeback, he had one foot out the door.

She sat there, pissed off and turned on and all sorts of confused, drowning in a now _ruined_ mood. All because of an asshole named Puck in a leather jacket.


	2. Chapter 2: Ding

**Author's Note: It took me a while to write this chapter (writer's block) so it may be a little rough. I will say that I am totally psyched about this story. Woke up this morning to find that it has almost **_**100**_** views! A big step for a writer whose work has never been read before. Thank you so much for the feedback after only one chapter. **

**Originally, this chapter was going to be from Puck's perspective. It was very out of character, though. If you're interested in a few chapters from his perspective, let me know. I'll just work a little bit harder. Also, this chapter is short because of my writer's block. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. Enjoy!**

She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her living room floor, surrounded by books and trying desperately to decide which ones to sell, when her phone _dinged_. She looked up from the sea of paperbacks and shoots a quizzical look at her phone. That's weird. Nobody usually texted her. Quinn isn't much of a texter…. Is _texter_ a word? Whatever. It's weird that her phone just _dinged, _and she leaned over to grab it from the nightstand.

FROM (unknown number): _r u still an unbelievable bitch?_

And, right away, she knew exactly who it's from. Puck. Funny, because she shouldn't be able to recognize his number. They'd never texted before….. Duh, because why would she text him? She decided to play along, though.

TO (unknown number): _**who is this?**_

Her attention is turned back to the books, because now she had to direct it somewhere besides the mystery of how he got her number. Or why he's at Yale. Or that stupid leather jacket. Or why she's turned on by him.

Fifteen minutes went by.

_Ding_.

FROM (unknown number): _the sexiest not-student at yale. went back 2 the library later and u werent there. found ur number in the employee files. _

TO (unknown number): _**that's illegal. asshole**_**.**

FROM (unknown number): _r u going 2 arrest me? you'd look hot as fuck dressed up like a police officer. _

TO (unknown number): _**stop texting me.**_

FROM (unknown number): _just saying_

FROM (unknown number): _whens the next time ur working?_

FROM (unknown number): _r u ignoring me?_

FROM (unknown number): _who's the asshole now?_

She wasn't ignoring him. In fact, she'd gone from _trying_ to ignore the countless _dings, _to keeping her eyes glued on her phone until the next time it buzzed so she could read his message right away. Maybe she was pathetic, but nobody could see her. Besides, she wasn't replying to him. Just…. Curious about what he was saying. And then he gave up, and her game was over. Admittedly, she was pretty bummed to see him give up so easily. Despite every inkling in her body telling her NO, she saved his number in his phone under the name _Sexy Asshole_. What? It's not like he'd see.

The rest of her day passed without any excitement. She cleaned up her apartment, wrote two papers for school, finished The Great Gatsby (for the fifth time), made macaroni and cheese and watched Inception. Quinn would never tell anybody, but she was totally about action movies, _not_ romances. Maybe that was because romance movies were total crap. Romance didn't exist. She'd figured that out when Finn cheated on her in high school. Whatever. She was over it.

Now, she was on her back, facing the ceiling and trying desperately to make herself fall asleep. Lately, she'd been having trouble sleeping. The workload from school, combined with her ridiculous work hours, made it impossible to ever feel _relaxed_. God, she missed feeling light. Now, she only felt heavy and anxious and…. Tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally…. Tired. And she couldn't sleep. She'd kill you if you told anyone, but Quinn Fabray missed high school. Figured. She couldn't wait to get the hell out of Lima, and now she'd give anything to go back.

There was something else on her mind, even if she tried to overlook it. Puck. The leather jacket-clad asshole. This whole situation was beyond weird, because HBIC Fabray did _not_ get hung up on guys. Guys got hung up on her. It was especially frustrating because she recognized his whole game and _still_ fell victim. Why couldn't she just stop thinking about him?

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe she was on drugs, or maybe she just really wanted to text him. But her hands grabbed for her phone without the OK from her brain.

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**why r u at yale?**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _that's a minor detail u don't need 2 know._

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**what's ur real name?**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _another. _

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _does this mean ur thinking of sleeping with me?_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**no.**_

She fell asleep frustrated and confused.


	3. Chapter 3: Hazel

**Author's note: I'm sorry that this chapter is so short. I have ridiculous amount of schoolwork to do.**

**Feedback would be fantastic. I hope you enjoy!**

"You look so fucking _hot_ in that dress."

She knew that voice. Funny how it sounded so familiar to her and she'd only_ really_ heard it once in her life. Still, it was a sound that she swore she'd been hearing for years. A sound that, if it was saying nice things, she could easily let wrap her up and warm her to sleep. Instead, it objectified her and pissed her off beyond belief. She wanted to hate that voice. She swore she hated it.

Quinn spun around to find herself nose-to-nose to Puck. The distance, or lack thereof, between their bodies caught her off guard and she sucked in a short breath before taking a step back from him.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here?" she sneered, her eyes narrow and straining to remain on his face instead of trail over his yummy, yummy body. She had to be intimidating, you see. This guy's ego certainly did not need a boost (see: SEXY ASSHOLE in her phone's contact list).

"It's a fucking party, Barbie. There's alcohol and hot chicks. You should be surprised if you ever _don't_ see me here."

Her lips pursed while she stared at him with a face of pure boredom. This is why she hated parties. Besides the entirely too dim lighting, obnoxiously loud music, drunk idiots and various drugs… There were guys like this. She should have been flattered, really. There were plenty of pretty girls at this party and, according to Sexy Asshole, he could have any one of them with a wink of his eye and clench of his jaw. He had to know that Quinn wasn't going to have sex with him but, still, he worked at it. Flattering right?

Wrong.

His arrogance was beyond annoying. She'd had _one_ (two, if you count their weird texts) conversation with him and swore that she could die happy if she never had to speak to him again. Good thing he found her number.

She had to look into changing that. Did it cost money to change your phone number?

What frustrated her even more was the fact that she craved his nearness and could not figure out why. Maybe it was because she wanted him to be close enough to smack. Or, maybe, it was because she wanted to hear _that_ voice say something sweet. She knew it would never happen, but she could still hope. Because it wasn't the words he was saying, but the _sound_ of his voice, that kept her wanting more.

How very confusing and totally frustrating.

This is why she hated parties.

"Is there a reason you insist on bothering me?" she barked, unable to look at him any longer and instead turning on her heels to face a group of idiots playing Beer pong. She could pretend to be focused on them but, really, her radar was too aware of his eyes on her body.

"You're sexy when you're pissed," he answered almost immediately. "Your cheeks turn an unreal shade of red… You chew on your bottom lip, too, and your eyes get dark quickly. I imagine they're not normally that dark, anyways. Before I pissed you off, they were super hazel…"

Her head snapped around so that she could make sure the same Puck was standing next to her. That sounded a lot like _feelings_, and she was pretty sure that SEXY ASSHOLE was a robot programmed to upset her. The way _that_ voice shook when he remembered her eyes, though…. And, now, she stared at him with her lips parted and her brow furrowed. Not angry, just… confused. He stared back nervously, like he'd just accidentally spilled some huge secret. She swore, for one second, that she could see through him. For one second, she saw a glimmer of somebody who wanted _her_, not inside her pants.

In the next second, he was clearing his throat and slamming his mouth shut, straightening up and plastering that smirk back on his face. That arrogant smirk.

"I guess…" he took a step forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her close to whisper into her ear. "I just really like to see you _bothered_ because of me."

Her hand came up to his chest and she shoved him back with an _Oomf. _

"Pig," she snapped before turning and storming away.

And, as she stormed, she felt disappointment wash over her. Of course she'd never hear that voice say anything truly sweet. She wished she could have.

She tossed and turned again that night. All she wanted was sleep. When 3:00 AM was rolling in, she heard her phone _ding _again.

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _just fucked a chick's brains out and pretended it was you_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**pig**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _oink_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**lose this number**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _lose those eyes first_


	4. Chapter 4: Coffee

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _r u asleep?_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**why r u texting me at 2 AM?**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _because i'm horny_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**not my problem**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _wanna make it ur problem?_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**what do u think?**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _yes_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**no**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _ur a bitch_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**ur a pig**_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _oink oink_

TO SEXY ASSHOLE: _**i'm turning my phone off now. **_

FROM SEXY ASSHOLE: _nite, baby._

That night, before she really turned her phone off, Quinn changed Puck's name to OINK in her phone.

A few days passed without any appearances from Puck and, honestly, Quinn couldn't tell if that was relaxing or not. It should have been a good thing, right? So far, they'd only bickered with each other. As far as she could tell, he wanted nothing more than to fuck Quinn's brains out simply to say he'd done it. It wasn't an entirely new concept to her (see: HBIC), but could you blame her for wanting_ feelings_? If she didn't have a brain, she would have had sex with him by now. More than once, probably. Seriously—look at him. Dude was drop dead sexy, but Quinn insisted on the age-old theory of courtship. No, she did not believe in romance, but she did believe in gentlemen. If there was one thing that Puck most certainly was _not_, it was a gentleman. So that decided it for her—absolutely, positively _no_ Puck.

This would be an easy rule to follow if he stayed away from the library and, if the past few days were any indicator, he'd be gone for good.

Of course, as soon as Quinn felt like she could breathe again, he waltzed into the library carrying an iced coffee. She looked up and immediately rolled her eyes.

"You're like a bad penny."

"It's nice to see you too, babe."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "_Don't_ call me that."

"Call you what?"  
"Babe."

"Yes, dear?"

Her mouth hung open for a second, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He was an idiot.

"Are you five years old?" she sneered.

"Nope, but I did bring you this."

He placed the ice coffee on Quinn's desk and slid it towards her, letting it stop against her hand and keeping his eyes on hers. She glanced down at the drink and then back up at him with a puzzled expression.

"What is this?" she asked, pulling her hands back and folding them on her lap like the coffee was going to melt her hands off if she touched it.

"That," he started with a smirk, one eyebrow raised in amusement at her obvious disgust. "That's an iced coffee."

"I'm not an idiot," she started.

"Arguable," he interjected.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. Her cheeks started to flush again, but she was going to pretend not to be pissed.

After another, long sigh, she spoke again.

"I'm not an idiot. I know what it is. I'm asked you _why_ you got me an iced coffee."

"You look tired," he said with a knowing expression, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Excuse me?"

"I said," he straightened up, clasping his hands together on the desk to mimic her. "You look tired. Got bags under your eyes."

"That's extraordinarily rude." she snapped, bringing her fingers up to press the dark areas under her eyes.

"It's rude that I bought you a coffee?"

"Yes."

"Are you tired?"

She hesitated and bit down on her bottom lip. "Yes."

He chuckled and stood up straight, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then take the coffee and stop bitching at me."

"You roofied it."

"Excuse me?" he scoffed, barking out a loud laugh. "I _what_?"

"You drugged it… or something."

He couldn't stop laughing at her. She was starting to get embarrassed. "You're psychotic."

Her eyes fell to the icy drink and she licked her lips impulsively. She tried not to drink coffee because her Mother banned it from the house when Quinn was a child. Said it stained teeth and acted as a "gateway drug." Whatever that was supposed to mean. She'd learned to drink coffee like it was made out of magic, though, when staying up late became a habit in college. It was one of the many secrets she kept from her mom. Quinn Fabray _loved_ coffee.

She reached forward to pick it up, taking a sip through the straw and keeping her eyes on his. God, she loved coffee.

"Thanks," she mumbled with a slight hint of confusion, because she didn't quite understand where this was coming from.

"Okay… I roofied it." he laughed nervously, sucking in a breath through his teeth and tapping nervously on the desk. Quinn practically choked on the coffee.

"You're a pig!" she screeched, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and preparing to pass out from the drugs in her coffee.

"And _you're_ in the middle of a library…shut the fuck up. I'm joking. There's no drugs in your coffee, Princess."

The look on her face was one of sheer terror, and she shook her head while simultaneously trying to calm herself down. Her skin must have been the color of a tomato.

"Out" she muttered, pointing a tiny finger towards the library door.

He scoffed. "Later, babe."

His eyes trailed over her for a quick second before he smirked and turned to leave. She was momentarily stunned from hearing her call him _that _again that all she could do was stare ahead in a daze. She was so fucking confused.

"I told you not to call me-"

"Oink."

And he was gone.

Great. Now she was all kinds of flustered and there was a _ton_ of work to get done. The rest of her shift dragged on but she did, drink her iced coffee. It was french vanilla. She pretended not to enjoy it.

Five long hours, one traffic jam and a terribly annoying phone call with her mother later, Quinn finally had time to herself. She curled up in bed with a book and made about five pages of progress before she remembered that she never thanked Puck for the coffee. He'd live… right? Ugh. Fuck Quinn for having to be _polite_ all the damn time. She pulled out her phone and stared at it for a solid minute before typing out a text.

TO OINK: _**thanks.**_

FROM OINK: _for?_

TO OINK: _**the coffee.**_

FROM OINK: _dont mention it babe_

TO OINK: _**french vanilla is my favorite**_

TO OINK: _**and stop calling me babe**_

FROM OINK: _of course its ur favorite. ur a girl.___

TO OINK: _**what is that supposed to mean?**_

FROM OINK: _it means all girls love french vanilla. its a girly flavor._

TO OINK: _**thats sexist and not true. im not like other girls.**_

FROM OINK: _oh really?_

TO OINK: _**yes**_

FROM OINK: _what r u doing right now_

TO OINK: _**excuse me?**_

FROM OINK: _just answer the fucking question princess_

TO OINK: _**ur so rude. reading.**_

FROM OINK: _reading? what r u reading?_

TO OINK: _**pride and prejudice **_

FROM OINK: _point proven_

TO OINK: _**ur a dbag**_

FROM OINK: _later babe_

TO OINK: _**QUIT FUCKING CALLING ME THAT.**_

He didn't text back again until 4 AM.

FROM OINK: _r u asleep?_

TO OINK: _**yes**_

FROM OINK: _i like pride and prejudice _

TO OINK: _**ur hilarious**_

FROM OINK: _im being serious_

TO OINK: _**u read?**_

FROM OINK: _another detail, babe_


	5. Chapter 5: Rain

**Author's Note: Not sure you guys understand how freaking cool it is to have people begging me to write more. I am beyond flattered and grateful. Here is more. Hope you enjoy. I might start every chapter with text messages, since those have gotten good feedback and they're fun to write. **

FROM OINK: _its raining_

TO OINK: _**ur observant**_

FROM OINK: _quit being a bitch_

TO OINK: _**no**_

FROM OINK: _what r u doing_

TO OINK: _**reading**_

FROM OINK: _ur boring_

TO OINK: _**i hate u. what r u doing**_

FROM OINK: _listening_

TO OINK: _**to what?**_

FROM OINK: _the rain_

TO OINK: _**oh**_

FROM OINK: _wanna come over and fuck me_

TO OINK: _**asshole**_

FROM OINK: _oink oink babe_

TO OINK: _**not ur babe**_

FROM OINK: _yet_

TO OINK: _**ever**_

This _would_ happen to her. Every single time she had a place to be, a deadline to meet, or somebody to see, Quinn's life took a turn for the worst. Okay, so maybe that was a little dramatic, but she seriously had the worst luck ever. Leave it to her car to break down when all she wanted was to go home and curl up in bed. She'd just worked the world's most boring shift (no Puck this time) and, somehow, being so fucking bored exhausted her. She sat in her red VW buggy, cranking her key around getting more frustrated when the only sound she heard was an unsettling grinding. It was raining, too. Seriously. Just her luck. Actually, it hadn't stopped raining for days in New Haven. Who knew why. Who _cared_ why—all she wanted was to go home.

She threw her hands up in frustration and slumped back in the driver's seat. This was bullshit. What the hell was she supposed to do about this? She knew next to nothing about cars (her mom insisted that mechanics were a man's worry). And then it dawned on her.

TO OINK: _**what do u know about cars**_

What? Could you think of a better idea? She had about three friends here, and they were all girls. Since she closed the library today, her car was the only one left in the lot. Everybody else had gone home…. You know, to their warm houses. Quinn was stranded.

_Ding._

FROM OINK: _theyre fun 2 fuck in… or on_

TO OINK: _**shut the fuck up. im being serious. mine wont start**_

FROM OINK: _do u have triple a?_

TO OINK: _**u think i'd text u if i had triple a?**_

FROM OINK: _ur such a fucking bitch. where r u?_

TO OINK: _**library**_

FROM OINK: _on my way. sit tight_

TO OINK: _**where am i gonna go einstein**_

FROM OINK: _i cannot stand you_

TO OINK: _**feelings mutual**_

She chuckled at her phone and sat back, trying to convince herself that his coming to rescue her meant absolutely nothing. Her calling him for help? That meant nothing, too. This all meant nothing. They hated each other. Just read their texts.

_Pride and Prejudice_ held her over until he showed up, which was about thirty minutes later. Reading under the sound of rain on a car roof was, surprisingly relaxing. The words flowed from her eyes to her brain like the most velvet poem she'd ever read.

Then Puck ruined it by banging on driver's side window.

"Open the fucking door, Fabray! I'm getting soaked!"

Her head snapped up, and she couldn't help snickering at how ridiculous he looked, his face pressed against her window. She opened the driver's side door and grinned up at him in amusement.

"Get out," he snapped. "I mean, get in the passenger seat. I want to hear what it sounds like."

"It sounds like a car that won't start. Can you just help me?"

"No. Get out."

She stared up at him with her mouth hung open and rolled her eyes before stepping out. "You are such a guy," she muttered past him before scurrying to circle around her car and becoming just as soaking wet. He slid into the driver's seat and slammed her door shut.

"Keys," he mumbled, his hand out in expectation. She handed him her keychain and tried starting the buggy with zero success. Just a loud grinding noise.

"Yeah, something's broken," he observed, sitting back in the seat and shaking his head with his arms crossed over his chest. The look on his face was one of a doctor who'd just discovered a tumor.

"Shocker," Quinn mumbled, staring at him with an annoyed expression. "I could have told you it was fucking _broken_. I'm asking you if you know what to do about it."

"If you'd quit your bitching," he snapped, glaring at her through a furrowed brow. "I'll let you use my Triple A insurance. They'll tow it for you… Well, they'll tow it for _me._"

"Sorry," she squeaked, defeated. She had to play nice if she wanted his help.

"Yeah, now you're nice," he snapped, his face softening a bit when he glanced at her and couldn't look away. His eyes fell over her body, a wet lump on the passenger side, and he smiled at her.

"What?" she asked, bringing her hands up to wipe away the booger that _must_ have been hanging out of her nose if he was staring at her like that.

"You're cute with your hair sticking to your face like that," he explained without any hint of sarcasm in his voice, and she felt her breathing catch.

"Thanks," she muttered after a few seconds of awkward silence, because how else was she supposed to respond? She turned to face forward instead of looking at him.

"Don't mention it, babe."

In the next second, he was on the phone with Triple A. He explained the situation and asked for a towing service to pick up the car.

"They're not going to be here for another hour," he said after hanging up and dropping his phone in the cup holder in between their seats.

"An _hour_?" she screeched, her wide eyes looking at him like he's just diagnosed her tumor.

"Stop fucking screaming," he growled, bringing his hands up to press against his ears. She swallowed and rolled her eyes, because he was being dramatic. She didn't scream _that_ loud. "There's nothing I can do about it."

"I have stuff to do," she whined, falling back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. She planned on pouting for the next hour.

"Like what?" he chuckled. "Read your _stupid_ Jane Austen?"

She turned her head and glared at him. "You said that you like _Pride and Prejudice_."

"I never said that."  
"Whatever. Thanks for helping out."

"It's my _pleasure_," he replied, dripping in sarcasm, and sat back to get comfortable in the driver's seat. Quinn looked at him like he was insane.

"… You can go now."

"Thank you for_ dismissing_ me, Princess, but they can't tow your car without me. My account. I can't leave either."

"Great." She pretended to look disappointed. She leaned over to grab her book where it was laying next to his seat, sitting back with her legs curled against her body and cracking it open. For the few seconds that he allowed her quiet, she grew increasingly aware of his eyes on her. The lump in her throat could not be swallowed enough times.

" 'In vain I have struggled,'" he began, leaning over to push her book down to rest against her chest. His eyes were intense, no trace of humor on his hardened face.

"In vain I have struggled," he repeated. "It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.'"

Austen. _Pride and Prejudice_.

"You do read," she breathed, her eyes wide and glassy, because she was pretty sure that quote could not be more beautiful until _that_ voice said it.

He looked panicked again. Embarrassed, even. He cleared his throat (she was beginning to think this was a telltale sign that he felt threatened).

"Hell yeah, I read" he mumbled, trying to regain the masculinity in his voice and failing when it cracked. Another cough to clear his throat. "Chicks eat that shit up."

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat again. He was beyond frustrating. She pulled at the lever next to her seat to let it recline, bringing her feet up to rest on the dashboard.

"When I was little," she started, not caring if he was actually listening or not. "I waited for rain and then tried to count the raindrops on the roof above my head."

It was quiet for a few seconds before he muttered, "You're stupid."

"_You're_ stupid."

He looked over at her with an amused eyebrow raised high.

"You're shivering."

"You made me get out in the rain," she explained condescendingly.

"Have my jacket." He peeled off his leather jacket and tossed it in her lap, reclining his seat back to match her position facing the car's ceiling.

She stared at his leather jacket for a few seconds with a furrowed brow, trying to decide if it meant anything. After a few seconds, she shimmied it on and made up her mind that it did _not_, in fact, mean anything. Still, she felt compelled to vocalize this.

"This doesn't mean anything," she explained. "Me wearing your jacket."

"Whatever."

The rest of the wait for Triple A was quiet. She faced the ceiling for a few minutes and tried to digest whatever was going on with them before returning to her book. Puck just stayed put, laying on his back in the driver's seat and looking entirely too distraught.

Every couple of pages, Quinn would stop reading to count the raindrops above their heads.


	6. Chapter 6: Valentine

**Author's Note: This chapter is completely improvised! Had a vague idea before I wrote it, but not a clear plan. Sorry in advance. **

**Your feedback makes huge, earth-shattering grins split across my face. I thought writing made me happy before I began posting on but, clearly, I was wrong. This is quickly becoming a new escape for me, and your lovely comments are just inspiring. Thank you so much.**

Valentines day sucked. Like, _really_ sucked. Quinn hated it. In high school, she loved it. Boys jumped on the opportunity to shower her with chocolate delicacies, beautiful jewelry, various stuffed animals and dozens of flowers. Could you blame them, really? This is _Quinn Fabray_ we're talking about. She was practically made of gold. And, God, did she love the attention. Eventually, she grew out of her sex appeal… or something. Boys in college didn't shower her with so much adoration. Honestly, Quinn missed feeling valued.

Even in high school, though, she didn't believe in romance. Not after Finn cheated on her, at least. Stupid freaking Rachel Berry. Whatever. She was over it. All those boys who tried to woo her only wanted in her spanx, anyways.

Valentines day at Yale was a fucking nightmare for Quinn. Its like everybody actually started to _glow _a hue of pink and it made her want to vomit. She'd been walking in between classes and scowling at all of the _couples _who were so doe-eyed and in love. Now she had to sit behind the library desk for five hours and watch people make out in the comfy chairs. Seriously? How come everybody found it entirely necessary to suck each other's faces off because of the calendar date? She'd never understand.

_Ding._

FROM OINK: _u look like ur ready to kill a person_

She furrowed her brow in confusion and typed out a quick message before looking up to look around the library.

TO OINK: _**u see me? where r u?**_

FROM OINK: _i do see u. ur shirt is see thru. nice bra. u have nice tits._

TO OINK: _**shut up. where r u?**_

FROM OINK: _come find me_

TO OINK: _**i cant leave the desk u moron im working**_

FROM OINK: _stop being a fucking brat and live a little_

Quinn huffed and dropped her hands on her lap. He was probably laughing at her flustered expression, wherever he was watching her. She stood from the desk and smoothed out her skirt. Wandering around the library and looking like a complete idiot, she peeked around the shelves until her eyes fell on him. He was in the back, hidden in an aisle of books away from the rest of the people in the library. He leaned against the bookshelf with one hand tucked behind his back.

"You're fucked," she whispered, scurrying to meet him in the aisle of books and leaning against a shelf opposite him. "This is beyond creepy."

He bit down on his bottom lip with a chuckle, not even trying to hide the fact that he was drinking in Quinn's features. "That pencil skirt makes your ass look insanely delicious."

"Pig."

"Oink," he whispered before he pulled his hand out from behind him, holding out a stuffed animal pig and offering it to Quinn. "Happy Valentines day… or something."

She looked down at the plush animal and then back up at him, her eyebrows knit tightly together while she tried to figure out what was going on.

"A Valentines day present…?" she asked, chewing on her bottom lip. "Why?"

"Because I'm trying to get you to have sex with me."

"You're a-"

"Pig?" he laughed before raising the pig in front of Quinn's face. She grabbed it from him and held it tight by her side.

"I'm _not _having sex with you," she snapped through gritted teeth.

"Will you let me touch your ass, then?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows with pursed lips.

"Thank you for the pig," she said, bringing her hand up to massage her temple, because he was _that_ exhausting. "I need to go back to the desk."

"Wait," he breathed, a hint of panic in his voice.

"_No, _you can't touch my ass," she huffed, bouncing on her feet and getting impatient.

"God, shut _up_ Quinn. I want to know if you'll hang out with me tonight."

Her mouth hung open and her eyes narrowed at him. She had a feeling that being confused by him was about to become a regular thing. "You want to give me a stuffed animal _and_ hang out… on Valentines day?"

"Yes." He stared at her with wide eyes and a sly smirk, though it faltered a little and made him look slightly nervous.

"No." she answered after a few seconds of looking at him like he has 6 heads.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't do Valentines day, Puck. I hate it. And, let's be honest, so do you. You want to get laid tonight."

"Will you just fucking _stop it," _he growled, looking genuinely annoyed this time, and… hurt? Did she hurt his feelings? Did he even _have_ feelings? He clenched his jaw and took a second to breathe deeply and calm himself down. "I just want to hang out, drink alcohol and not be anybody's valentine. Come hate Valentine's day with me tonight, okay? You can keep all your clothes on…. Unless, of course, you'd rather hang out alone in your apartment and read more romance novels to make yourself feel better about the _lack_ of romance in your real life."

There was that annoyed look that she was so used to having on her face around him. She thought about it for a long couple of seconds, deciding that she'd rather not read _Pride and Prejudice_ (or any Jane Austen, for that matter) by herself on Valentine's day, so there were no other options for her than to hang out with Puck. It took her a while to repeat _It doesn't mean anything _in her head before she cleared her throat and looked back at Puck.

"Fine. Text me your address because I need to go back to the desk."

He grinned down at her and leaned in to whisper against the shell of her ear. "I am _so _getting laid tonight."

She shoved against his chest with an _oomf _and rolled her eyes before pushing past him to resume her place at the desk.

"_Such_ a nice ass," he observed as she walked. She bit back the impulse to turn around and smack him, instead sitting down and trying to figure out what the hell she was doing.

For the first time ever, her shift went by too fast. She was nervous to hang out with Puck this evening. But it wasn't a date. Most certainly not a date. She pulled up to his apartment building after a car ride that she didn't remember driving, swallowing her nerves and getting out to step up to his door and buzz for him.

"What?" he barked over the intercom.

"Charming as ever," she muttered, chuckling and rolling her eyes.

"Oink," he chimed before buzzing her in. She navigated her way to his apartment after struggling to find the elevator, knocking on his door and biting her lip.

" 'Sup, babe?" he greeted, swinging the door open with a grin.

"I brought booze," she chirped, grinning at him and pushing past to step into his apartment and look around. It was, surprisingly, neat for a dude. The sink was full of dishes, and there were some articles of clothing on the floor, but it wasn't bad at all.

"Absolut!" he cheered, taking the bottle of vodka from her and hugging like a child with a toy. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

"Why thank you," she giggled, curtseying and unwrapping the scarf she had wrapped around her neck. She dropped it, with her jacket, on his counter and made herself welcome on his couch. "Black Ops?" she asked, furrowing her brow at his xbox.

"Problem? I'm fucking_ boss_ at that game," he laughed, walking to join her on the couch and sliding the Absolut and two shot glasses on the coffee table in front of them.

"So am I," she said seriously after a few seconds of awkward quiet.

"Hilarious," he muttered.

"I'm being serious," she laughed, pushing against his chest with her foot. "I love Call of Duty."

His eyes widened at her and, for the first time since they'd met, he was entirely speechless.

"Will you marry me?"

"No, but I _will _kick your ass," she offered with a grin, wiggling her eyebrows and eyeing the game console.

"In your _dreams, _Princess," he rolled his eyes. "You probably play like a girl."

"Shut up and turn it on."

They played Black Ops for two hours, taking a few breaks to toss back shots of vodka and insult each other on how much they sucked at this game. The third time Quinn's character killed Puck's, he threw his controller across the room.

"Fuck this game," he yelled, trying not to smile. "It's because I'm drunk."

Quinn snorted. "You had _three _shots. You're not drunk. I won. You lost to a girl."

Puck pouted "I need another shot," he whined, reaching for the bottle and filling his glass to the brim.

Quinn grabbed it after him and poured herself another shot, too. "To girl power," she toasted, raising her shot glass.

"Yeah, whatever," he muttered, raising his glass to clink against hers and throwing back the alcohol. Quinn matched him, and they both grimaced at the way it burned their throats.

"To hating Valentine's day," Quinn exclaimed cheerily while pouring herself _another _shot.  
"Easy, Princess. I don't want to have to take advantage of you."

"You wouldn't," Quinn scoffed, raising her glass and eyeing the bottle as if to suggest that Puck should pour himself another glass. He sighed, reaching over and pouring another drink. They kept this up: pouring shots and dedicating them various things.

"To fucking hot chicks," Puck chimed.

"To Jane Austen," Quinn giggled.

"To pigs."

"To leather jackets."

"To calling you babe."

"To french vanilla iced coffee."

"To calling you _my _babe," Puck murmured, he face hardened and serious. He stared at her with alert eyes and a jaw that clenched nervously.

Quinn stared at him with wide eyes, completely caught off guard by his sudden change in tone. She tried to fight everything in her body that was suddenly being pulled towards him, but the alcohol had taken affect a long time ago. She suddenly lost all inhibition.  
"To calling me _your_ babe," she repeated, nodding her head with a serious expression and tossing back the shot. She didn't even grimace from the way it burned her throat this time, just kept her eyes on his.

"To calling you _mine_," he practically whispered, leaning in and extending his arms to hold Quinn's head in her hands. The pad of his thumb brushed along her cheeks, and she was at a loss for words. She was pretty sure her chest had never felt like it was going to cave in this way.

"Yours," she breathed, bringing her hands up to grip his wrists as his hands stayed warm against her face.

"Mine."

At that point, the talking was over. He closed the distance between their faces and crashed his lips into hers. It was greedy and urgent, like he just _had_ to kiss her. Her eyebrows raised in shock because, frankly, she couldn't believe this was happening. She promised herself absolutely _no _Puck. After a few seconds, though, she relaxed and let her lips move with his. He tasted like vodka and a flavor that must have been uniquely _Puck_. And she loved it. She loved kissing him. She could have done it all night.

It was the alcohol. It must have been the alcohol.

"Tell me your real name," she asked, breaking the kiss and feeling bold. Her chest was heaving from the lack of oxygen. At this point, she was pinned to his couch as he hovered above her and braced himself on with both hands on either side of her head.

"No," he breathed before hungrily taking her lips again. She pushed her hands on his chest and effectively distanced her lips from his, which was hard because he tasted so perfect.

He looked down at her with a concerned expression, and she could feel his heart rate picking up against her own chest.

"Please," she squeaked, her eyes wide and honest while she studied his face. "Don't be afraid of me."

"Noah," he spat out after a couple of seconds of silence, and she swallowed. His name rang through her ears and she let it mull around in her brain for a few seconds before she nodded her head against his couch pillow. She didn't know why it bothered him so much; his name. But it was a step in the right direction.

"Noah," she repeated quietly, feeling guilty when he flinched. "Why are you at Yale?"

"Shut up. Stop asking me about these details," he growled, dropping his head to capture her lips again before she could argue with him.

"You're an asshole," she sneered against his mouth, but she couldn't stop herself from memorizing the shape of his tongue.

To Quinn's surprise, he didn't try to have sex with her. It must have been difficult, she thought, because she felt his arousal through the fabric of his pants. Instead, he rolled their bodies over and pulled Quinn over his, letting her settle into his lap and nuzzle against his chest.

"Are we… _snuggling_?" she snickered.

"Shut the fuck up," he said, trying to sound pissed but letting out a small chuckle.

"I can't stand you," she chirped.

"Feeling's mutual, babe."

She fell asleep wrapped in his arms that night, and he stayed awake for a long time. Occasionally, he would bend his neck to smell her hair but, for the most part, he kept his head thrown back and stared at the ceiling. He was panicking. It looked as if he was holding a ticking time bomb in his arms, instead of Quinn, but he refused to let go.


	7. Chapter 7: Hurting

**Author's Note: So sorry if this chapter is a little bit…. Awful. I had a terrible day so my writing is a bit off. **

**Here is where the angst commences. Things will get worse before they get better. **

**Feedback is as great as falling asleep in Noah Puckerman's arms.**

"Wake up." He was shaking her awake, an a look of urgency painted across his handsome face. She blinked her eyes open and furrowed her brow, jolted by his rude awakening.

"What's wrong?" she asked, panicked. "Stop fucking _shaking_ me, you dickhead."

"I have to go," he muttered, wiggling out from under her to grab a water bottle from the fridge and grab Quinn's coat to hand it to her. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he stared at her with wide eyes, and she was alone on the couch. It was a lot colder without his arms around her slim body.

"Go where? It's Saturday." She pushed up on her hands and bit her lip. Why was Noah acting so bizarre?

"Then _you_ need to go," he snapped at her, and she flinched at the tone of his voice. He was being so cold. "I have stuff to do."

"Why are you being such an ass?" she squeaked, staying on the couch and ignoring his offer for her coat. "I thought we had a nice time last night."

"You have to go," he huffed, taking another step forward and shaking her coat at her. "Take your coat. I'll text you… or something."

Quinn's mouth hung open and she looked at him, completely and totally confused. "I'm so confused," she admitted. "Did I do something wrong?"

Puck shook his head immediately and let out a frustrated sigh. "You shouldn't have stayed over. We shouldn't have hung out. Take your fucking jacket and _go."_

"Why?" she sneered. Now she was angry, and she stood from the couch to come nose to nose with him. "Because you finally started to have feelings in a place that's _not _in your crotch?"

"Go fuck yourself," he spat at her, shoving her coat against his chest. "Because God knows you won't let _me_ fuck you."

"That's _not _what this is about, Noah!" she screeched, pushing her jacket away and letting it fall to the ground between them. Her face softened while her hazel eyes filled with tears and she searched his face, desperately trying to find the vulnerable boy from last night. All that stared back at her was a hardened, angry face. "Why are you being this way?"

"You won't call me that," he muttered. "I want you to leave."

"Why are you so scared?" she breathed, shaking her head and bringing her hand up to brush against his arms. He shrugged it off, and she brought it up again, trying to make him see the honesty in her eyes. "Stop pretending to be this way. Please."

He swallowed, and his eyes traveled over her face. That jaw clenched and unclenched. He was panicking. "I'm not afraid of anything, I just don't want you here anymore. Please go." He was doing a terrible job of lying, and she noticed the way he didn't put much effort into making his explanation believable.

"What happened to you?" she croaked. "Something happened to you that made you this way. Talk to me."

"Jesus Christ, Quinn!" he screamed, and she jumped at the venom in his voice. She knew he was a douche bag, but she didn't know that he could be this _mean. _"Stop trying to fucking analyze me! I know you think that you _know _about life because you're a fucking Yale student and your Mommy and Daddy give you the world but, if you don't back the fuck off, things are going to get real ugly. I don't give a shit about _feelings, _okay?"

"Fuck you," she snapped. And then she _really _snapped. Her hand flew up before she understood what it meant to actually smack someone. It made contact with his cheek with a loud slapping noise. When it fell to her side, she looked up at him while her chest heaved from the adrenaline of having just laid her hands on someone that way. He stared down at her with wide eyes and quickly looked as if he was seeing red.

"Don't fucking hit me," he growled, losing control and backing her against the wall. Her back hit the wall with a loud _thud _and all of the wind was knocked from her chest. His hands pinned to her shoulders and kept her pressed against the wall, and she looked absolutely terrified.

"You're hurting me," she squeaked, tensing under his grip.

"I don't care," he barked (which hurt more than his hands on her shoulders). His grip loosened up anyways, but not enough to free her from the wall. "For somebody who _knows_ to much about me, you should _know_ better than to lay your hands on me. You should _know _that's the worst fucking idea."

And then she realized what this was all about.

"It happened to you," she whispered, her eyes wide with discovery and concern. "Your dad… or your mom, whoever. They hit you when you were young."

Puck let her go and took a few steps back from her, dropping his head to look at the ground. "Get out."

Her mouth hung open and she shook her head because she couldn't believe they'd become this _involved_ with each other in such a short amount of time. She swore that she'd never hurt over another person this way. Especially Puck.

"Fine," she muttered, retrieving her coat from the floor and leaving his apartment without saying goodbye.

She cried the whole way home and nearly crashed her car from the tears that blurred her vision. Actually, she cried almost the whole night but she'd never tell you that. She was supposed to be over it before it even started. She wasn't supposed to fall for anybody, because this is _always_ what happened. People ended up hurt.

She went to bed early. No reading tonight.

She didn't fall asleep nearly as fast, or as soundly, without those strong arms around her body. She'd only been able to feel his body against hers _once, _and then it was over. But once was enough to make her crave him for the rest of her life, even if she tried to ignore the craving. Her bed was cold and lonely.

It was all a mistake.


	8. Chapter 8: Lying

**Author's Note: You are all beautiful people for giving me such amazing feedback! I am blown away and deeply humbled. I'd hug you all if I could!**

**This is a short, but very important, chapter. I think we can all relate. I may post another chapter tonight if I receive good feedback on this one but, if not, certainly tomorrow! Enjoy!**

Quinn didn't drink to get drunk, so why did she do it that night? Maybe she thought it would make being with Puck easier. And things went well… right? They played video games and snuggled and, God, the way his lips felt against hers. She could still taste him. She thought she could, at least. Maybe she just _wanted _to taste him so badly that she created his flavor again. She was insane.

Whatever. She was over it.

If she was over it, why the hell was she still thinking about it two weeks later? Clearly, he was over it. He hadn't texted her or called her or even stopped by the library. He didn't care. Maybe it wasn't because the feelings scared him away, after all. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he left because Quinn wouldn't sleep with him.

She should have slept with him.

What? What the hell was she thinking? Quinn wasn't that kind of girl. She didn't sleep with guys so that they'd stay. She was insane.

She started seeing someone. Almost immediately after Puck kicked her out, actually.

He was called Trevor. He had copper colored hair and a kind face. He was sweet to Quinn. She was never frustrated around him. Being with him was easy. His shirts didn't cling to his chest the way Puck's did, though. She didn't feel naked if he stared at her for long enough. His laugh wasn't nearly as husky and strong, and he definitely didn't taste as addicting as Puck did…. But being with him was easy. And Quinn needed more _easy _in her life. She needed simplicity.

TO TREVOR: _**can u bring me some coffee when u can? im about 2 fall asleep behind the desk. ill pay u back for it**_

FROM TREVOR: _no need 2 pay me back cupcake. ill be over soon _

_Cupcake. _Quinn hated that. She should have thought it was sweet, right? Ugh. _Cupcake. _

Trevor showed up, like, two hours later with a coffee. _Wow, thanks Trev _Quinn thought. She could have died of exhaustion by then. It was a medium _black _coffee. Hot. _Black coffee. _No cream or sugar. No French vanilla. Cool. She had to swallow the urge to bitch at him because, hello, wasn't that kind of high-maintenance? Making your boyfriend buy you coffee and then complaining that he didn't get you the right kind? Instead, she forced a sweet smile and stood from the desk to offer him a kiss on the cheek. She didn't like kissing him on the lips. Every time, he assaulted Quinn's mouth with his tongue. She missed Noah's tongue…..Puck's. She missed Puck's tongue. Or maybe she didn't. Maybe she hated him.

"Thanks, baby" she cooed into his ear, and he turned his head to try meeting her lips. She turned her head away. "Morning breath," she muttered as an excuse. But it wasn't true. She actually just had a mint. He frowned at her, and she held a hand on his upper arm, keeping him a safe distance away. "Thanks for the coffee," she repeated.

"Don't mention it, boo." He beamed back at her. _Boo. _Ugh. Puke.

And then _he _walked in.

Puck.

Quinn's life was seriously _made_ out of bad luck. How the hell was she supposed to rebound with Trevor if Puck insisted on making is presence known all the damn time? Her mouth dried up, and she watched Puck walk closer to them. Trevor noticed her nervousness and turned to see who she was looking at.

"Who's that?" he asked, and Quinn could tell that he felt threatened.

"Nobody," she answered almost too quickly, and she suddenly felt _way _more interested in Trevor. Her fingers laced through his, and she moved so that her body would mold to his. She didn't mold to him as perfectly as she had with Puck, but she made it work. Her free hand came up to rest on Trevor's chest, and he looked like he'd just won the lottery. He was an idiot. But Puck saw, and that's all that mattered. He'd see that Quinn was over him and _happy. _

"I really, really _like _you," she breathed against Trevor's neck, and he snaked an arm around her waist. He must have been confused, because Quinn hated PDA, but he wasn't complaining. Her eyes glanced away from Trevor for a split second to find Puck and laugh at the expression on his face. He must have been pissed. Instead, she spotted him in the comfy chairs with another girl on his lap. He was laughing, rubbing the small of her back and smirking like _that. _And she looked like she could've fucked him right there.

Quinn's face turned sheet white, and she immediately tensed under Trevor's embrace. She blinked away the hurt and then looked back up at him, swallowing. "I'll see you later," she muttered, clearing her throat and pushing away from him with more force than necessary. He looked really confused now because, well, he was an idiot. When he left, Quinn took her place behind the desk again and hated herself for being so wrapped up like this. She was finally getting over it, and now… this. Why the fuck was he even here anyways? He wasn't a student at Yale. It must've been so that he could bother Quinn. That had to be it. She watched him nuzzle his head into that slut's neck and almost threw up. Not because she hated PDA, but because she hated seeing his lips on somebody else's body. He'd glance up every now and then to smirk at Quinn, clearly enjoying the way he fucked with her. That hurt. She pulled out her phone and texted him after a half hour of the unbearable displays of affection.

TO OINK: _**looks like ur gonna suck that girls face off if u keep going**_

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and chuckled, then tucked it back in his pocket. No reply to Quinn. Then, he kissed her again. And again. And again.

She had sex with Trevor for the first time that night. It was quick and, the whole time, she told herself that it was what she wanted. Because she _did _want him. She wanted simplicity… Right? He left afterwards, because she said that she felt sick. That wasn't a lie.

She got drunk that night, too. By herself. She must have looked ridiculous: sitting indian-style in the middle of her bed, surrounded by chocolates and booze. It worked, though, because she was deliciously oblivious by her seventh shot. She was _numb. _

She also wasn't thinking straight, so she texted Puck.

TO OINK: _**idid u f ck her**_

FROM OINK: _excuse me?_

TO OINK: _**tht grl from toh elibrary earlier 2dya. D iu fuck her**_

FROM OINK: _r u drunk?_

TO OINK: _**hamm ered. **_

FROM OINK: _r u by urself? r u safe?_

TO OINK: _**liek u care**_

FROM OINK: _tell me where u r. ill come pick u up_

TO OINK: _**callm ur tsits. im safe insdi e my apartement**_

FROM OINK: _i fucked her until she cried_

TO OINK: _**i ahd sex woth my boyfriend tongitt. hes ncie to me. **_

FROM OINK: _ur boyfriend is a ginger. i could snap him in half with my pinkies_

TO OINK: _**he doenst make me cry**_

FROM OINK: _u cried?_

TO OINK: _**over u yeees**_

FROM OINK: _im sorry_

TO OINK: _**no ur nto and it doesn't kmtatter anyways beacsue i loev trevor**_

FROM OINK: _cool. _

And then the sober part of her mind forced her to put the phone down and go to sleep.

Because _love_ was a big word, and she just used it in a lie.


	9. Chapter 9: Shakespeare

**Author's Note: You are all AMAZING! I never expected to receive such amazing reviews on my first fanfiction! I am so glad that you're enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it (though, I will admit, the angst is hard to write). Keep in mind that I post these chapters on the same day that I write them, so I am (kind of) improvising. If you have ideas for this Quick, PLEASE leave them in a review and I will try to incorporate them. Also—let me know what ship you'd like to see written about next. I'd love to do Quick, but Puckleberry sounds like a viable option, too. Love you all! **** xoxo S**

_Romeo and Juliet. _No—it wasn't Quinn's next book. Honestly? You think she'd read_ any _romance after everything with Puck? No. She was trying, as hard as she could, to stay away from romance. It was all a lie. _Romeo and Juliet _was the play that Quinn was being forced to act in to fulfill a requirement for her Stage class. Of course it was. Why the hell did she minor in theater?

Couldn't they have done something like _Dracula _or _Macbeth? Romeo and Juliet _was seriously so cliché. The best part: Quinn's director laid his eyes on her and immediately decided that _she _was the perfect Juliet. "You're stunning," he exclaimed, grabbing Quinn's hand and kissing it (she sanitized it later). "Juliet Capulet brought to life." This guy was psychotic. Quinn's life was a huge joke. Here she was, forced to play a girl who'd found the purest love—so pure that she _died _for Romeo—when Quinn could not be further from such purity. College was torture. Yale was torture. New Haven was torture. Noah Puckerman was torture. She could've died.

They only had a _month _to produce this play. Honestly? Whose idea was it to recreate a Shakespearean play in four weeks? Had they ever read his plays? As if Quinn wasn't busy enough. So now there was school, work, her obvious emotional scarring from Puck, a new boyfriend to pay attention to, and freaking _Romeo and Juliet. _She could've died.

The past month was miserable. She'd become a sort of shell, going through the motions. She smiled when she had to, but it never touched her eyes. She laughed when laughter was called for but she never heard the jokes.

She kissed Trevor enough to make him think that she had real feelings and, when she was missing Noah, she had sex with Trevor. Trevor and Quinn had sex a lot. She pretended to have orgasms just for his ego. He was happy. She pretended to be. He'd roll over afterwards (never wrap her in his arms); She'd turn the opposite way and cry silently. Because she never thought that she would be this girl. She'd never be the girl who faked smiles, faked love making and faked happy. She promised herself a different life, and now she was stuck in a huge lie. All because she had a taste of something so beautiful and perfect and _right, _and then it was ripped out from under her nose.

It was production night. She had to go on stage in thirty minutes.

Dressed like Juliet, she felt like an idiot. This corset was seriously pissing her off, and she hadn't been able to take a deep breath in the past fifteen minutes. And who the fuck wore their hair like this? Ugh. She was dreading this whole thing. The guy who played Romeo took advantage of his role and invaded Quinn's mouth every single rehearsal. Disgusting.

And, of course, Puck had to be in the audience. Front and center. Quinn stepped onstage, laid eyes on him, and almost threw up her heart. Actually, she almost fainted. That's not a joke. Initially, she froze in place. Puck only grinned up at her with his hand gripping some girl's thigh. Who was that? His date? Quinn was, luckily, able to pull through and deliver her lines. But his presence made it so hard to be in character. He looked _amused _the whole time, like she was acting in a comedy. Not a tragedy. Occasionally, he'd lean in and suck his date's face, or rub her thigh, or nibble her neck. Quinn stumbled on her lines whenever he did. He laughed at her. She had to pretend to be in love with tongue-rape Romeo. This used to be her favorite play. Now, she delivered her lines through tears.

"I have no joy of this contract tonight: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to Ere one can say, 'It lightens.'" She spoke those words directly to Puck, and it was the one time she felt in character. He stopped smiling then, his face faltering. He looked vulnerable again. She didn't care.

Trevor met her backstage after the performance. She offered him a kiss on the cheek and then excused herself. "I need to talk to the director," she lied. "Be right back." And she ran off. She used the theater's back entrance to escape into the parking lot, and spotted Puck walking to his car. He was with his date. Quinn didn't care—she only saw red.

"You," she screamed, her pace quickening. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. His brow was furrowed but, upon realizing who stopped him, he did his best to look arrogant. Quinn stopped when she finally caught up with him, then turned to his date. "Bye," she snapped, dismissing her. She looked like a hurt puppy and slumped away. Quinn's attention turned back to Puck, and her chest was heaving. Apparently the adrenaline had already gotten to her. His eyebrows were raised in amusement and she could've killed him. Instead, she slapped him again. Hard. Way harder than the last time and, this time, she grabbed his wrist in time to stop him from touching her. He was angry—Quinn could see it in his face. She didn't care.

"No," she screeched, gripping his shirt in her fists and forcing him against his car. "You listen to me. I am so fucking _done _with this game, Noah. Are you going to get pissed at me for calling you that, _Noah?"_ she stopped talking for a split second, as if he'd actually have time to respond before she started yelling again. "I don't know what the hell your life is about. I don't know what could have happened to you to make you such an awful human being, but you need to stop. Stop fucking with me, okay? What is your angle? You want to make me feel stupid? Done. You want to make me cry? Done. You want to be the only person on my mind? Done. _Drop it. _You're an asshole, and I want nothing to do with you. Stop texting me, stop showing up everywhere and _stop _trying to ruin my days. Let me get over you."

He was stunned. He only stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open and his breathing ragged. He looked like he was about to cry, and Quinn had to swallow the lump in her throat. She shouldn't have looked at him for so long, because it made her want to comfort him. Still, she managed to turn away and walk away.

Hopefully, it'd be for good this time.


	10. Chapter 10: Places

**Author's Note: This is my most favorite chapter so far! There is some **_**awesome **_**smut here, but keep in mind that I have never written smut! It may not be very good—apologies in advance. I hope you enjoy. It's the longest chapter so far.**

**Feedback is as good as having sex with Noah Puckerman in a janitor's closet. **

Forgetting Noah Puckerman was a lot harder than Quinn had expected. Partially because she, though she wouldn't admit it, would kill to kiss him again. It was mostly because he kept showing up everywhere, though.

* * *

The first place he showed up was the coffee shop, of all places. Quinn was running late for work but, God, she needed some coffee. She hadn't been sleeping much over the past few weeks. Of course, the line had to be a ridiculous length. She hated Mondays. After ordering her coffee, she took her place at a table by the counter and settled for some Temple Run to pass the time.

"Watch out for the monkeys," a voice chuckled before bumping her hand and making her lose. Her head shot up with an annoyed expression and, when realization hit her, her ears rang louder than she'd ever felt before. He looked _sexy _in a scarf but, shit, they weren't speaking to each other. Her skin drained of all color, and she was fighting for words to say. When they didn't come to her, she stood from the table and stared him in the eye for a few seconds before shoving past him to walk away. Without her coffee. He watched her go with a smirk but, when she was gone and couldn't see him, he looked beyond hurt.

The barista called her name five seconds later, waving her coffee in the air, and Puck grabbed it. And then he left without _his _coffee. Quinn thought she'd escaped him when she got to work, and she figured it'd take the next week to get over that little run in. He _touched _her. She stared at her hand and tried to forget the feeling of his skin brushing against hers the way it did but then, of course, he walked in holding her coffee.

"You forgot this," he muttered, placing it on her desk and staring at her with wide eyes and a ghost of a smirk.

"That's not mine," she lied.

He picked up her coffee and took a sip, licking his lips after and driving Quinn _crazy. _"It's an iced French Vanilla…. and it says your name on it." He twirled the cup around to reveal Quinn's name written in sharpie. Shocker. She took it from him without saying a word, ignoring the fact that his lips were right where hers would be if she decided to drink this coffee after he touched it.

Puck stared at her for a while, and she ignored him. If she ignored him, he'd go away. But he stood there, practically burning through Quinn's flesh with his eyes, and she eventually grew frustrated and looked up at him, pressing her lips into a tight line.

"Talk to me," he said softly as soon as their eyes connected, lacing his fingers together on the desk.

"Leave," was her only response, and he listened.

He left.

* * *

The next place she ran into him was on the sidewalk. She literally _ran _into him this time. Guess that's what she got for texting with Trevor mid-walk, but she was in a hurry to get home and watch _Glee. _It was just like a movie: her coffee tipping from her hands and spilling all over her front.

"Dude, _watch_ we're you're fucking—Quinn."

She was too busy frowning down at her stained shirt to realize who she'd run into, until he said her name. She looked up and felt like puking. Really? _Him? _His eyes fell to her shirt, and the corners of his lips curled up into a smile.

"Sorry about your shirt, but now I can see your bra."

"Pig," she murmured before trying to collect herself and get to her car.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her back, calling, "No, wait. Stop."

She had no choice but to stop, because Dude was strong. Her eyes didn't meet his, though. She only rolled them and bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to look completely uninterested.

"Please," he breathed, brushing his thumb on her skin. She'd be feeling that for the next hour.

She couldn't talk to him. She _tried _talking to him, and he shut her out. Puck made her feel completely embarrassed and unwanted and unimportant and _awful. _There would be no talking. Instead, she swallowed her desire for him and tossed the remaining contents of her coffee in his face before pushing past him.

* * *

The grocery store was next.

He worked there. Nobody made bagging vegetables sexier than he did.

Of course his register was the only open one. She could have left instead of facing him, but her mother would be visiting next week and she was on a strict organic diet. Quinn's life was a serious joke. Luckily, she was wearing a huge sweatshirt, so she tried slipping her hood on and keeping her head tucked down. Like that was supposed to work.

"Fabray," he greeted with a chuckle.

"Just check me out," she snapped and immediately regretted it. He snorted a laugh and started to ring her groceries.

"Oh, I _do, _baby," he chuckled. They didn't say anything to each other for the rest of her checkout, and she avoided his eyes the whole time.

When she went to look at her receipt that night, she couldn't see the cost of her groceries.

_I miss you _was written over it in black sharpie.

* * *

Honestly, how cliché was it that she saw him at the _Laundromat _next? He was already there and, naturally, the only other person on planet Earth washing their clothes that day. They were alone in a fucking Laundromat.

"You're stalking me," he tried joking, but she ignored him.

Quinn Fabray's life was the epitome of awkward.

While her whites were washing, she sat on the bench in front of her machine and pulled out _The Fault in Our Stars. _One of her favorite books. He was watching her. She knew he was. After ten minutes, he was finishing up. He couldn't leave without walking by Quinn and picking up a hot pink lace thong from her hamper.

"You're disgusting. Give it back," she sneered.

"No."

He tucked it in his pocket, licked his lips, smiled and turned to leave.

* * *

It'd been a week since her awful Laundromat run-in, and she _still _wasn't over it. Trevor was starting to notice her irritability, and she tried to convince him that it was only because she was tired. When he tried to make her talk about it, she shut him up by having sex with him.

She closed up the library again a few days later, and there was nobody else left in the building. As she was walking to get to the parking lot, though, a hand came out of nowhere and pulled her into a janitor's closet. She screamed, and the hand covered her mouth to muffle the noise.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up" he whispered, and she realized it was him. Noah.

Her brow furrowed, and she looked at him like it was nuts. "Puck?" she asked before turning to wiggle the closet handle. It wouldn't open. He had her locked inside of a janitor's closet. He was going to kill her…. Or something. She panicked, banging against the door with her fists. "Help! Help!" she chanted, but he grabbed her arms and pulled her back as much as he could in such a small space.

"Knock it off, Drama Queen. I'm not going to murder you or anything like that. I want you to talk to me."

"I have nothing to say to you," she breathed, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to ignore the proximity of his body. She could taste his breath from this far away.

"Fine, then you can listen to me."

"You know what, _Noah? _I don't have to do anything, so-"

He grabbed her face and shut her up by kissing her. Hard. She sucked in a huge breath and looked at him with wide eyes when he pulled away. She wanted more, but she also wanted to kill him. His chest was heaving, and he caught her wrist to stop her from smacking him this time.

"Let me go," she screeched.  
"Listen to me." His grip tightened around her wrist.

"You can't kiss me like that, I have a boyfriend."

"I don't give two shits about your dweeby ginger boyfriend, Quinn. Listen to me. Please." His eyes were begging her, and it broke her heart.

"You have about two minutes to say what you need to say before I call the cops. This is _kidnapping._"

He rolled his eyes and dropped his hand from her wrist, settling on her waist instead. "You're so _fucking _annoying," he growled before his voice softened to match his vulnerable expression. "You annoy me. Everything about you annoys me, actually. The way you twirl your hair around your cute fingers annoys me. And I hate the way your hair smells like watermelon and _you. _You have a smell, and I hate that. I hate that your smell is my favorite one. It annoys me that I can forget everything and just stare at you while you read. You get this little crinkle above your nose when you concentrate on a book, did you know that? It annoys me. I hate the way looking at your stupid _hazel_ eyes makes me want to tell the truth about everything. I get annoyed when you blush, because I'd like to kiss you when you do. Actually, I'd _love _to kiss you. All the time, and it annoys me that I can't. I hate the way you lick your lips, because it makes me want to fuck you. And that's the other thing. I don't want to fuck you at all. I want to _make love_ to you, and I hate that. I hate that you _insist _on being the most beautiful person I've ever looked at. It annoys me that you're not sexy. You're _beautiful, _and that's it. It annoys me that I've wanted you in my arms since Valentines day. It annoys me that anyone else could insult me and I'd be fine, but one insult from you and I actually _believe _it. And it hurts. I hate that you hurt me. I hate that not being _around_ you hurts me. It annoys me that you ask me to share details of my life with you, because you're the first person I've _wanted _to share them with. Ever. And I hate that I couldn't tell you if I tried, because you'd leave. As soon as you _knew_ me, I mean _really _knew me, you'd leave. I hate that I'm terrified to see you leave, and that it actually hurts my chest when you do. But I can't do anything to stop you. Because losing you now would be a lot easier than losing you after I actually fall in love. And I hate that. I hate you for being somebody I could fall in love with, because I don't love anybody."

And, just like puzzle pieces, everything just _fit. _"Oh…" Quinn trailed off, letting his words wrap her up and make her feel high. He only stared down at her with a concerned expression, his chest heaving at the recent word vomit. And then she couldn't take it anymore.

Her body was against his before she could tell herself that it was wrong. She should've thought of Trevor, but she didn't. Not once.

Their bodies fit together perfectly, of course, and her arms snaked around his neck to hold him close while her lips took his. God, he tasted perfect. It'd been too long since she got to taste him. Those strong arms wrapped around Quinn's waist and held tight. Being against his body was, arguably, the most addicting feeling. She explored with her tongue and greedily explored every part of his mouth. She needed to memorize that mouth. She needed to memorize all of him.

"I hate you, too" she breathed against his mouth before letting out a moan when he bit down on her bottom lip.

Things picked up fast, but not fast enough for Quinn. She _needed _him. His hands creeped under her shirt and he pulled away for a second to look at Quinn as if to ask for permission. She bit her lip and eagerly nodded her head, smiling when he peeled her top off and left her in just a bra on top. He buried his head into her neck and sucked on the skin there; a completely _unreal _feeling for Quinn. She whimpered softly and grinded her hips against his, giggling at the way she felt his arousal through his pants. Her hands hungrily grabbed his zipper and fumbled with it before pulling down as much as she could without making him remove his lips from her neck. Puck wiggled his hips to shake them off the rest of the way, and she giggled against his lips.

"Nice hip thrust, Shakira" she whispered.

"Shut up," he responded before backing her against the closet door and yanking her skirt down, taking her panties with them. She helped them the rest of the way off and kicked them from her ankle, letting them land in the closet corner and grabbing at Puck to remove his shirt.

"This," he murmured darkly while slipping a finger under her bra strap. "I want it off." So he took it off. She arched her back against the door to give him easier access, and he wrapped around her to undo the clasp on her bra and leave her bare-chested.

He took a step back and traced her now completely naked body a few times, and she wondered if she was supposed to feel nervous. "What?" she asked when he didn't move.

"You're just… perfect," he breathed out in a shaky voice, and she reached forward to bring their bodies together again.

Skin on skin. Heart to heart. They fit together perfectly.

Quinn's hands started to memorize his body, traveling over his toned chest and defined abs. He squeezed her hips to keep her close while learning her figure with his mouth. Those lips latched onto her neck before moving onto her collarbone. He paid extra attention to the hollow below her neck, where her heartbeat could show. He took her breast in his mouth and used his tongue in a way that Quinn didn't know was possible. She let out a loud cry and dug her nails into his back while he moved onto the other side and paid special attention to her nipple. She was pretty sure he could push her over the edge that way alone, but then his hands found her center and she realized that she was wrong. Two of his fingers pushed against her clit, tugging at it and teasing her.

"Jesus Christ," she breathed with wide eyes, because he was so _good _at that. When they both couldn't take it anymore, he lifted her with his strong hands and kept her braced against the door. She used her legs to wrap around him and keep herself up, sinking down on top of him and gasping at the way he filled her. Her hands pressed into his shoulders, her head dropping to his neck while she breathed raggedly against his skin. He held her up and thrust his hip to move inside of her, and she helped by arching her back and creating a rhythm. A slow, delicious rhythm that quickly became the most perfect thing Quinn had ever felt.

"You scare the shit out of me," he choked out, pumping at a growing pace and letting out a groan. "Oh my god, you're amazing. You feel amazing."

She only moaned in response, their pace quickening while she cried out and held him tighter. She'd ask him to go faster, harder, harder. And he did, until she almost cried.

"Let go," he whispered against her neck before biting the skin there, and she came apart around him.

"Noah," she whimpered while he let her ride out her orgasm, quickly catching up with her and exploding inside of her. He pumped as fast as he could, slamming her into the closet door and letting out a lout moan.

"My Quinn," he let out before starting to come down from climax and slow to a stop.

They stared at each other for a long time before dressing each other and leaving the janitor's closet.

* * *

The next place Quinn saw Noah was that night. It was at her apartment, in her bed. They didn't have sex again. That could wait.

Instead, he held her and they didn't say anything to each other unless it was completely necessary. They had all the time in the world to _talk _about anything they wanted. Right then, they wanted to be quiet. They wanted to _feel _the quiet and, for once, they weren't afraid of silence. She was curled up with her arms lazily draped over his abdomen, head resting on his chest while he held her close and traced hearts into her back. Occasionally, she'd look up to connect eyes with him and smile. He smiled back.

It was her favorite place to see him.


	11. Chapter 11: Talking

**Author's Note: Thank you for all the feedback! Here is some fluff for you. Puck also becomes a real person in this chapter. A slight trigger warning regarding domestic abuse. **** Enjoy!**

It was the best night's sleep she'd ever gotten, and that kind of scared her. She could tell it scared him, too, because he was awake before she was. He had that look on his face again, but he wasn't shaking her off like he did after Valentines night. He was, clearly, nervous about holding her but refused to let go. She thought it was cute.

"Morning," she croaked, looking up at him with her chin on his chest. He tucked his chin to smile down at her and let out a groggy chuckle.

"Bedhead is cute on you," he said, mussing up her hair with his strong fingers. He bent his neck to kiss her, but looked a little confused when her hand gently turned his head away.

"Morning breath," she explained with a smirk, and he pulled her hand down to pin it on the bed before rolling his eyes and grabbing her chin to keep it steady.

"I don't give a shit," he breathed before moving his lips even closer to hers, "about morning breath." And then he kissed her. Like, _really _kissed her. Made love to her lips with his, and she swore that she could be happy if that's how she woke up for the rest of her mornings.

"I like you," she giggled, grinning against his lips, and her hands slid over his bare chest like she had to learn every curve of his body.

"You're okay…. I guess."

They spent hours talking that morning. He held her tight, squeezing every now and then like he had to make sure she wasn't going anywhere. Occasionally, they'd steal kisses and her hand constantly traced little hearts into his skin. When they got uncomfortable in one position, they found a new one. For the most part, though, they laid still and talked. They talked about Quinn's food—macaroni and cheese. They talked about her favorite singers—James Taylor and Sting. She talked about her favorite childhood memories, weird dreams she'd written in a notebook, and her pet peeves. She talked about getting lost in her favorite book and knowing that, there, she would be safe from heartbreak and sad feelings. He listened. He laughed when she did, or when she looked cute. He frowned when she said something that was sad and quickly tried comforting her with a kiss. This often led to the removal of her nightshirt (his T-shirt). Then they'd resume talking.

At some point, he ended up lying on his stomach with her on his back like a koala bear. His cheek was pressed to his hand on the bed, and she had her arms wrapped around his toned waist. Their legs tangled together until they couldn't tell where one began and the other started. They fit together perfectly.

"Can you tell me about you?" she asked nervously, because his _details _were a hot topic, apparently. He rolled over to lay on his back and pulled her with him, letting her settle against his side before he spoke.

"I'm named after my dad," he said after a quiet couple of seconds. It sounded like a loaded confession, but Quinn couldn't figure out why he was so nervous to admit this. "Noah Puckerman Senior. Father of Noah Junior and Sarah Mae, alcoholic, abuser, and divorcee, and registered criminal."

Quinn frowned. He sounded so nervous.

"I guess I should've been happy when he was arrested and locked away. Even after he left my mom, he'd come back after getting really drunk and just beat the shit out of us. I really hated him, you know."

Quinn interrupted with, "That's why you got so angry when I slapped you." She felt awful.

"Yes," he confirmed, rubbing her back as if to tell her that it was okay. "I tried to step in between him and my mother, but I was just a little punk, you know? He knocked me out a couple of times. I was a disappointment, I guess. That's what he screamed when he was beating me, at least. I'm a piece of shit, or that I'm _weak. _A disappointment. He was right, though, because I was too stupid to get into a real college. I didn't really care about my grades in high school. My dad made it impossible to care about anything besides defending myself and praying that he'd stay away. So I had to settle for New Haven Community College. It sucks. I wanted to make my mother proud and be better than my father. My college can't afford its own library, but I love to read. I read all the time as a kid. It's how I tuned out Noah Senior when he was drunk. When he saw them, though—my books—he called me a 'fag' and burned them with his cigarettes. Don't worry, I put the fire out before it caught on the house. I go to Yale for its library. You know they have the most amazing selection of books? I have to steal them, though, because reading in front of hot chicks would be totally lame. That's what my old man said, anyways. I always return them, though. And then I saw you, and…" He trailed off, swallowing and holding her tighter. "My whole reason for going to the library changed."

Quinn and Noah made love that day. Three times. Neither of them actually called it _making love, _but it felt more right than anything either of them had ever experienced.

She showed him a collection of her favorite books. He picked a few, flipped to a random page and read the words out loud, slowly and carefully. They drank coffee. They bickered about her thong, which he had yet to return. They bickered about everything, actually, but it never escalated. They told stupid knock-knock jokes. He compared the size of her tiny hand with his strong one and used it as an excuse to lace their fingers together. He fed her oreos, and she gave him a back massage. He showed Quinn some scars left by Noah Senior. She kissed every one of them before nuzzling against his chest and falling asleep with him.


	12. Chapter 12: Consolation

**Author's Note: Sorry that I didn't post a chapter yesterday! College is crazy. This is completely improvised. It is VERY short because I have an exam tomorrow. **** Hope you enjoy!**

She shouldn't have done it. At least not until things were officially over with Trevor. Quinn Fabray was a lot of things, but she definitely wasn't a cheater.

Puck went home the next morning, after a full day of snuggling and talking and an amazing night with Quinn in his arms. They never established a relationship status or talked about what had become of them. For a couple of days, they were quiet. No texts, calls, run-ins or visits to the library. Maybe Quinn should've been upset that he didn't reach out, but neither did she. They were both mildly freaked out by the immensity of their feelings. When she couldn't stay away from him anymore, she texted him.

TO OINK: _**u gotta be careful with ur hickey placement next time. trev doesnt remember leaving that one on my collarbone**_

FROM OINK: _fuck off_

This confused her. She waited until her break rolled around to call him. He didn't answer the first time, so she tried him three more times. How "crazy possessive girlfriend" of her.

"What?" he barked after the third ring on her fourth call. She furrowed her brow at the venom in his voice.

"How come you're angry?" she asked, clicking her pen on the desk and pursing her lips in confusion.

"I'm not. I'm sleeping. Bye," he muttered, but Quinn could hear him breathing on the line.

"Noah." she squeaked, because something about using his real name suddenly made her feel powerful.

"Don't pull that _Noah _shit with me, Fabray. I don't want to talk about this."

Quinn scoffed and let her mouth hang open. "Talk about _what? _I didn't know there was anything to talk about."

"Do you fuck him?" he asked right away, and Quinn narrowed her eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Trevor. Do you fuck him?"

"He is my boyfriend."

She heard him let out a humorless chuckle. "So? I'm not your boyfriend, and you've fucked me. Four times."

Quinn muttered, "That was different," her voice full of hurt.

"How?" he snapped. "How is it different? You were with me and then you ran back to good boy Trevor. Is that how this is going to work? Are you going to fuck me now and then but stay with him?"

She shook her head like he could see her. "I know it's wrong, and I'm going to figure it out, but-"

Puck interrupted her. "But _what _Quinn? It's _wrong_. That's it. No 'Buts.' I'm not going to be that guy, and I definitely don't wan to be your consolation prize when you're bored with Trevor."

"Stop it. That's not what this is."

"Then what _is _it?"

Quinn was quiet for a while, because she couldn't think of what to say. The only sound she heard was white noise and Noah's breathing.

"Trevor is a nice guy…" she said quietly.

The next sound she heard was a _click. _

"Hello?"

He hung up on her.

That night, she got a text message right as she was dozing off to sleep.

FROM OINK: _i know im not a nice guy but i couldve made u happy_

TO OINK: _**u misunderstood me**_

FROM OINK: _i think i understood u fine_


	13. Chapter 13: Drunk

**Author's Note: Eeeeeep you guys are too sweet! Nothing makes me happier than an e-mail with a new review asking for more. I'm very excited about this story. I think it's very real and very important. Keep the feedback coming, because it's what keeps me going! xoxo S**

What a fucking _mess. _Noah was right. Losing him before was a lot easier than it was now than they'd become involved with each other. She thought that it stung before but, really, now it hurt a lot more. He wasn't answering her texts anymore, and it seemed like he avoided the library like the plague because she hadn't seen him in weeks. He had every right to walk away, but Quinn was never so conflicted in her life.

Honestly, there was no _real _competition. Trevor was nice, but his kisses left slobber all over Quinn's face, he had no clue how to use his hands, and his personality was… dull. Feeling Puck's hands was like a thousand Christmas lights twinkling under her skin and bringing her to life. It was so unnerving and frustrating to be around him, but so _right. _And he was so perfectly broken. She could fix him. She _wanted _to fix him. She could see him needing her forever, and that felt good. When she really thought about it, Quinn felt insane for staying with Trevor.

But there was Quinn's mother. Good ol' Judy Fabray. To be quite blunt, Quinn could not stand her. She should have been thankful for the life that she was given. Every night, she slept in a warm bed. She was always fed, groomed, clothed. Quinn couldn't help feeling empty, though. It wasn't until she went to school, and heard other children talking about their fun days out with Mom and Dad, that she learned what it meant to lack an emotional connection with somebody. That's also when she learned that most kids have a Mom _and _a Dad. Russel was never around, but Quinn just figured that's the way it was supposed to be. Growing up, it became increasingly apparent that Judy treated Quinn like an afterthought. She'd buy Quinn whatever she wanted, if it kept her quiet. Judy's parents came from money, which meant that Quinn came from money. Judy was all about proper behavior and establishing relationships because they were what was convenient. She never acted on her feelings or came alive with passion for anything. Naturally, that's how Quinn grew up, too. Until Noah, she'd gotten used to polite interactions and keeping everybody at an arm's distance. That's why her feelings for him were beyond weird.

There was, also, an unbelievable amount of pressure placed upon Quinn to be just _perfect. _Judy was especially self-conscious without Russell home. Both of them were all too aware of the taboo idea of one-parent homes, so Judy depended on Quinn to make her look like a good mom. That's why Quinn was always to be dressed fabulously in size two clothes and a winning smile. It's why she had to focus on nothing but schoolwork. It's why Judy paid Quinn to date good boy football players and boys from church. Because, when Judy's friends saw what an outstanding person Quinn had become, they'd pat her on the back and say, "Great job, Jude! She's wonderful." And Quinn would flash her million-dollar smile and think about how _wrong _they were. Judy Fabray was the epitome of awful. Quinn grew up thinking that she had to starve herself and bleach her hair to look beautiful. Her mother didn't admire her unless she looked like a model and, when you're a kid, all you want is your parents' admiration. Right? It was too much pressure. Crash diets and Bulimia became normal for Quinn. She went through countless boyfriends but never found anything serious. She'd paint her face with makeup and pretend that she felt pretty when, really, she never felt good enough for anybody. Because Judy was always telling her that she wasn't. She had a way of using words to snap Quinn in half and make her feel like _shit. _

When Quinn thought about Noah, she heard Judy's voice echoing in her brain. _He's going to break you, Quinnie. You need to marry a good Christian boy who will pay your bills and keep you in designer clothes. _It was sick. She knew it was, but that's how she was raised. Quinn was taught not to act on feelings, because they all went away after a while. Noah Puckerman was a lot of amazing things, but he was definitely not a gentleman. He wasn't Christian, and Mother would never approve. And, if she was thinking rationally, Quinn had to admit to herself that the fantasy couldn't last with him. She and Puck would have their moments of happy but, more often than not, they'd argue. They already argued more often than not. Things would get ugly fast, and the mess would blow up in their faces. And it would end. Trevor was _safe. _He didn't make Quinn happy, but he didn't break her either. Puck could break her too quickly. Trev's family had money, too, so that would never be an issue. Quinn would be taken care of. It was okay, right? This is what Quinn had been telling herself for weeks, because it's the only reasoning that made sense in her head. She knew it was twisted but pretended not to.

She constantly missed him. Constantly craved him.

After weeks of silence, he texted her.

FROM OINK: _do u miss me _

TO OINK: _**its 3 am. fuck off**_

FROM OINK: _can i fskcu u instaed_

TO OINK: _**leave me alone**_

FROM OINK: _ill be lcudky if i get h ome safe 2night_

TO OINK: _**what? r drunk?**_

FROM OINK: _out of mymind_

TO OINK: _**where r u?**_

FROM OINK: _th bar genisu. the dd wen thome so imi just taking more shots since im stranded here_

TO OINK: _**im on my way. dont move.**_

She showed up to the bar a half hour later and, indeed, he was hammered. When she walked into the bar, he was hunched over the counter with his fist in the air, demanding another shot. Everyone around him look annoyed, and she walked up behind him to grab his coat carefully. She turned his body with ease because, apparently, his bones became jell-o when he was drunk. One look at his face and she knew he was _gone. _His eyes were half-lidded and distant, his mouth curled up in an oblivious smile.

"We're leaving," she ordered, lifting by hooking under his armpits and pulling. He nearly stumbled over on top of her, and she had to use her leg muscles to stay upright.

"Leave me," he slurred against her shoulder, gripping her shirt tightly to keep balanced. "I'm fine."

She ignored his drunken plea and instead started to drag him towards the door. What a mess. Talking to him was pointless, so she stayed quiet and instead focused on her footwork to the car. Once she got to her buggy, it was a balancing act to get him safely into the passenger seat. He plopped into the car, a heap of Noah Puckerman, and she had to wrestle to get him to sit up enough to lean over and buckle him in. It only took ten minutes to get him home, and he'd passed out next to her.

"Wake up," she sighed, shaking him awake. He blinked his eyes open and frowned at her. Clearly, he was confused. She rolled her eyes and got out of the car to circle around to retrieve him from the car.

Getting him up to his apartment was a fucking _joke. _He'd almost crushed her about twenty times. Every now and then, he'd mumble something about hating Quinn, or not needing her, or thinking Trevor was a loser. She ignored his comments and, instead, focused on making sure he was taking care of. She undressed him and got him into pajamas like he was a baby. His clothes had some unidentifiable liquid stained on them, which was disgusting, so she took the time to toss them into the wash. Once he was tucked into bed (yes—tucked—because he was a child, apparently), she dug around his medicine cabinet for tylenol. He'd need it in the morning. She left that, and a glass of water, on his nightstand.

"I'm going to hurl," he mumbled in a broken, drunken mess, and she panicked. She sprinted to the bathroom and back to his bedside with a trash bucket just in time for him to release the past _ten _meals he'd eaten. Quinn just about passed out because, honestly, puke was not her thing. And this is seriously not what she signed up for tonight. She tied the trashbag and removed it from the bucket, bringing it out to toss in the dumpster next to his building before trudging back up to his bedroom.

"I'm going to go," she mumbled, drawing his blanket up to cover everything but his head. She wanted to regret bringing him home, but how else was he going to end the night on a safe note?

"No," he protested in a growl, and Quinn frowned down at him. He grabbed her arm to keep her steady. Even though his grip was weaker with alcohol in his system, she couldn't walk away from him. Either that, or she didn't want to. She couldn't tell. "I don't sleep well without you. Stay."

"I don't want to sleep next to you," she lied. "Not when you're like this."

His bottom lip jutted out and his eyebrows knit together. "Please. I miss holding you."

Quinn's eyes widened, and she winced at how _sober _that sounded. Her willpower was weakening with every second that she spent looking at his face.

"You can't hold me," she started. "But I'll stay. Only to make sure you don't puke again."

She didn't want to sleep so soundly next to him, because she was supposed to be getting over him. Honestly, taking care of him when he was drunk probably wasn't the best way to do that, but it was an excuse to be near him. She wore his shirt to bed, only because she didn't want to sleep in her tight jeans and ruffly top…. Yeah, _that's _why she wore it. Not because it smelled like him. When he rolled over and pulled Quinn's body against his, she didn't object. She let him. This time, she thought about Trevor. She thought about how _wrong _all of this was. But she couldn't cry with Noah's arms around her, even if he was drunk. She could tell that his embrace was purposeful and real and _sober. _Falling asleep with him was a little bit harder this time, because it shouldn't have felt this right.


	14. Chapter 14: Together

**Chapter 14: Glad you guys are enjoying. My e-mail address is listed on my profile page—if you have suggestions for this story/one that you'd like me to write, let me know! I would be happy for some input. **

Noah woke up before her. She blinked her eyes open at the feeling of his strong finger tracing hearts along her collarbone. She should have told him to stop, because he couldn't touch her like that, but she was too distracted by the feeling of his fingers leaving a trail of fire wherever they dragged along her skin. She turned her head towards him with a frown, her cheek pressed against the pillow. He didn't look angry.

"Morning," he croaked with the sexiest "tired voice" Quinn had ever heard. She blinked back the urge to lean over and taste him, swallowing her desire instead and keeping her lips pressed tightly. She was angry. He nearly scared her half to death last night and she had to take care of him like a baby. She was confused. She wanted him, just not the complications. She was terrified. He terrified her. The idea of _losing him _terrified her but, more than once now, he'd walked away. The second time, she understood. Didn't make it any easier to accept.

"Hi," she replied, because opening her heart to Puck was no longer an option. She didn't trust him.

It was time to go. She sat up and began tossing her hair up, pulling at the elastic around her wrist before he grabbed her wrist to stop her. She furrowed her brow in confusion and looked at him with a quizzical expression.

"I like your hair down and messy," he explained, his grip tight on her tiny wrist. He let go to reach up and grab the elastic from her, tossing it over his shoulder to land on the floor beside the bed. She gulped down the lump in her throat and could not move despite every inner voice telling her to run far away. He reached up and used three strong fingers to tuck some stray tendrils behind her ear, leaving another trail of fire along her neck. Every nerve in her body suddenly came alive, and she almost died at the way he was silently pleading with his eyes.

"I need to go," she squeaked, pushing his hand away from her neck. "I stayed over to make sure you wouldn't be sick again. Not because I want to be with you."

He let out a humorless chuckle and tugged on the material of his T-shirt, rolling it between his fingers. "You're wearing my shirt."

She slapped his hand away again, and immediately regretted it. She wanted, so badly, just to touch him. "I wore tight clothes last night and wanted to sleep in something more comfortable." A lie. They both knew she was lying, and she could see the resolve in his face to just play along. He nodded his head in agreement, but looked more hurt than Quinn had intended.

"I like it," Puck said quietly after a long couple of seconds. "My shirt on you. You're so tiny, and it shouldn't look so good on you, but it does. You're beautiful right now."

"Stop it," she snapped, choking on her words and trying to distance herself from him without moving. She couldn't move. Why couldn't she move? "You need to decide what you want. You've ignored me for the past three weeks. It's not fair."

Puck scoffed. "It's not fair that I'm ignoring you because you're in a relationship and I don't want to be the guy that you cheat with?"

"It's complicated, Puck." Her tone was a bit more condescending than intended.

"Would you shut the fuck up, please? I don't want to hear about _complicated, _Quinn. You don't know complicated. You're with Trevor because it's comfortable, and you fuck me because I'm good at it. You're a cheater. That's not complicated. _I'm _complicated. And you know that. You know I'm a fuck up, and you're still playing this game. Do you know how hard it was for me to share my life with you? And, apparently, none of it mattered. Because I'm still second choice. And now you're angry that I'm not letting you have me. You're a spoiled bitch."

His words stung in more ways than one. "Why are you the only one who gets to be _complicated, _Noah? You think that because you're a broken mess, I don't have a history too? You think I don't get scared just like you?" She shook her head angrily at him and drew her legs up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them and rocking back and forth to calm her nerves.

He was angry now. Noah had started off calm and sweet this morning, and she'd upset him. She was getting good at fucking things up. "Tell me how your life is so hard, Fabray. Mommy and Daddy buy you everything. You wear your stupid fucking designer clothes and go to Yale. What happened to make you so bitter, huh? Anybody ever smack you around as a kid? Ever have your father tell you that you're worthless? Tell me!"

"Stop!" she screeched, covering her ears with her hands and biting back tears. She didn't want to cry in front of him. "You don't know me. I'm sorry about your _Daddy issues, _Noah," she started, turning her head towards him and wiping away a stray tear. "But you aren't the only one who feels unimportant, okay? To answer your question, No. My father never made me feel worthless, because he was never around either. Judy did a great job, though. Making me _hate_ myself." She was staring ahead, letting the tears stream freely now. After a couple of silent moments, she whispered through her tears, "You aren't the only one who's afraid."

Noah was silent. She stole a glance at him and thought he'd never looked to guilty in his life. He swallowed and slowly reached forward, grabbing her hands and pulling them away from her eyes. She tried to pull away from him but, again, there was his strength.

"Stop trying to pull away from me," he ordered firmly, scooting closer and pulling her body into his. "I'm sorry." His chin rested on her head, and he kneaded circles into her back. She gave up the fight in her body and let him hold her.

"I'm going to leave Trevor," she croaked. "I'd leave him with or without you in the picture. I don't love him."

"You told me that you did."

"I lied."

He sighed. "Do you love me?"

She tensed under his embrace and thought for a beat. "No."

"Could you fall in love with me?"

Her fingers dragged the letters of their names along the skin on his arm. "I don't want to."

Noah was quiet for a couple of seconds before muttering a nearly silent, "Me neither."

Quinn let him make love to her that morning, because it was only a matter of time until they found their way back to each other. She knew that, and still tried to avoid it. Before she came, he whispered, "We're both broken" in ragged breaths against her ear, and she fell apart around him. It was deliciously perfect and completely terrifying.

She stayed at his apartment all day. When she woke up that morning, she was planning on leaving. But, realistically, she couldn't stay away from him anymore. They went back to sleep after making love, and she woke up to catch him watching her sleep again. Noah made her a brunch that was supposed to resemble an omelet. She complained about how terrible it tasted and he smacked her playfully on the back of her head. They watched Transformers together and argued over who'd get to have sex with Megan Fox (Quinn's biggest girl crush). He read her favorite pages from _The Fault in Our Stars_ while she looked on with half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile. They bickered about his level of "badassness." She tried wrapping her fingers around his biceps and, upon failing, ended sprawled across his kitchen counter with no panties.

Later that night, she called Trevor. It was time. If she and Noah were going to continue this—whatever "this" was—it was only fair to call it quits. She told Trevor that she cheated on him because she was unhappy. She said that it wasn't his fault, that they just weren't right for each other, and she was so so sorry. He'd find someone who loved him honestly someday. When she finished talking to him, she cried. Not because she was sad to let him go, but because she felt awful for breaking him. She never wanted anybody to hurt so badly over her. Noah watched on quietly and let her have that moment to herself.

"You need to be patient," she said when they were laying together, about to doze off. "I don't know what we are, and I don't want an _us _yet. I just want to be. Okay?"

"Shut up," he responded, and she couldn't be mad at him, because that was so Noah. She knew that he understood though and, even if they didn't say it out loud, both of them knew that she was his. He was hers.

They were each other's. Broken and together.


	15. Epilogue

**Author's Note: Alright, so here's where the story ends. It's tough for me to write an ending, but I thought it was the best course of action because I'm not sure how to keep it going without getting repetitive and boring. So, here is your Epilogue. I could probably find ways to keep it going, but I also thought of ANOTHER Quick story about which I am VERY excited. As soon as this Epilogue is posted, I will begin planning my next fanfic—it will be fantastic (hopefully)! Fingers crossed that I will have the first chapter posted by late tonight. Thank you so much for reading—your feedback made this a beautiful start to my fic writing career! Follow me if you'd like to read the next story which will, hopefully, have many more chapters and a lot more in-depth character development. Love you guys! xoxoS**

** "**Hand me the ketchup," Quinn ordered from across the table, and Puck only looked at her with his eyebrows knit together and a strange smirk on his face.

"You're awfully bossy, Miss Fabray," he chuckled, sliding the ketchup closer to him and away from Quinn's grasp. She rolled her eyes and huffed at him, clearly unamused with these games that he so loved playing.

"Quit being a dick and hand me the ketchup. This burger tastes like cardboard."

"Hey!" he yelled. "I made you that burger."

"God, you're so annoying."

Noah stopped chewing his burger and raised his eyebrows with a grin. "Yeah, but you love me."

Quinn's jaw clenched, and she let the word _love _roll over in her brain a few times before nodding her head. "Yeah, I love you." It wasn't the first time they'd said it to each other, but it still felt brand new. They started using words like _love_ about three months after Quinn broke up with Trevor. Now, it was a few months later, and they were getting ready to live together. Maybe they were moving too fast, but distance wasn't an option for Puck and Quinn. Despite constant bickering which, sometimes, lead to nasty fights, they couldn't stay away from each other. They didn't want to, either.

"I love you too," he responded before throwing the ketchup at her and laughing when it fumbled from her hands and onto the ground.


End file.
